‘No.’ He moved closer, answering her firmly. ‘You’re upset. What’s wrong?’ Adrenalin surged, his muscles flooded with aggression-filled strength. ‘Has one of the players done something?’
‘What? No!’
He believed her, but he also heard the raw emotion cracking her voice. He’d seen plenty of fear in his job and he saw it in her now. The way she was clutching her hands together, as if she was trying to stop herself fleeing. Beneath the silver glitter her eyes were wide with terror.
Concern gripped him. ‘Please tell me what’s wrong.’ He couldn’t breathe, holding himself back from drawing her hard against him so he could keep her safe from whatever, wherever, the danger was.
‘I’m fine. Really. Just having a breather. Lots of perfume in that room, you know?’
She was babbling. Why was she babbling?
‘I wanted a walk. You know. Clear the head.’ She looked at him with eyes so huge they were manic. ‘I’m nervous.’
Finally he could release the screaming tension in his lungs. He was so relieved, but he knew better than to laugh at her. ‘You’re a great dancer. You’ll be fine.’
She shook her head violently, her hair streaming out like a gold and bronze waterfall. ‘I’ve never done it before.’
He groaned. ‘Roxie, now is not the time to talk—’
‘No.’ She actually managed a laugh. ‘Not that. I’ve never danced in front of an audience.’
‘What?’ She had to be kidding. Never danced before an audience?
She was still talking—faster and faster. ‘The stadium is full. And there’s the broadcast—all those viewers at home. I’ve not been to a dance class in years. I did ballet as a girl but when Grandma had the stroke, I gave up classes. I’m self-taught from dance vids and music clips. I’m not good enough to be alongside those professionally trained girls with all their experience. Who am I kidding? I can’t do it.’
‘Yes, you can.’ Gabe’s head was spinning with all that info, with a ton more questions.
But she just shook her head wildly, her body trembling, on the edge of making a run for it.
‘Just imagine you’re in the garden and there’s no one there.’ He stepped closer and kept his voice calm. ‘You dance incredibly in the garden.’ He’d watched her so often, he knew how damn well she moved. A million times better than any of those other girls—she totally had edge.
She looked even more panicked. ‘I can’t do it.’
Fear was irrational. And it was obvious his rational attempt to reassure wasn’t going to work. But he wasn’t about to tranquillise her, which left only one course of action—distraction.
And this was purely to offer comfort, right? There was comfort in a cuddle. That was all it would be. He could manage that and only that. For sure. Because there was no way he couldn’t touch her now. He didn’t have the strength not to. Didn’t have the desire not to. All that mattered was making her feel that little bit better.
Roxie was almost in tears. Trying so hard to blink them back because she was going to ruin her make-up if they spilt over. And she hadn’t cried in months—she couldn’t cry over something as silly as this. She held her hands together, pressing them tight just below her ribs. Wanting to stop shaking, unable to control her agitated movements. The more she tried to calm down, the more upset she got. And having him here wasn’t helping. She’d been getting a grip ‘til now. Now she was all over the place.
She wanted him to clear off. Only now he’d moved right in front of her.
‘Roxie.’ He gripped her shoulders hard.
Startled, she lifted her head to look into his face.
‘Roxie,’ he said again, the tone of his voice totally changing.
Her whole system froze for a moment and then slowly focused on him. But he didn’t say anything more, just the smallest of smiles appeared on his face. Fascinated, she watched, because that smile wasn’t one she’d seen from him before—that smile was full of naughtiness, full of promise. His eyes reflected it, darkening with only a slim gleam shining from the very centre. She held her breath as his expression deepened wickedly. It looked as if the rake in him had been released.
One hand released her shoulder, moving close to cup her jaw, his broad palm pressed almost the length of her throat. He held her firmly. Her breathing slowed as she watched him move so slowly nearer. His touch seemed to drug her, replacing the anxiety twitching through her veins with a sluggish warmth instead. She couldn’t move—not to encourage, or to run away. She could only wait. And want.
His thumb moved, stroking, the pressure of his fingers increasing on the vulnerable pulse point in her neck. She felt the release of his breath over her face. Her eyelids fluttered, blocking the visual overload from him being so close, so her body could focus on the touch, the scent.
His kiss was soft and not anywhere near enough to her lips. She felt the pull deep within—the ember that had been smouldering for so long was blown into a flame with just those too few touches.
‘You’re going to be amazing,’ he whispered, almost crooning, as his lips touched her skin. ‘Just amazing.’ He kissed along her jaw. ‘You are amazing.’
Heat flooded her system, galvanising her again—only this time the energy pulsing through her was born not of fear, but of desire. She wanted closer, wanted to cling. The one thing she’d wanted for days was now in front of her. Teasing, tormenting, captivating—just out of reach.
‘Go out and have fun,’ he said.
She didn’t care about the damn dancing any more. The fun was right here.
‘Kiss me,’ she said softly.
He did, but not where she wanted. Another series of kisses down her throat. He brushed the swathe of hair from her neck, clearing the path for his lips with skilful strokes of his fingertips.
She leaned closer, felt one hand at her back as he adjusted to take her weight, crushing her to his length. She threw her head back, abandoned, as he pressed ever more passionate kisses across her skin. His teeth nipped, his tongue flickered to soothe the tiny scratches, his hands held. She discovered just how much she loved to be held by him. How much she’d wanted it. She yielded to him completely.
‘Roxie,’ his tone warned, his voice rasping.
Her body burned for more. ‘Kiss me properly.’ She wanted his mouth on hers. She wanted to be absorbed entirely in his embrace.
She could feel the acceleration in his breathing as his abdomen was sealed to hers, could feel the hunger rising as his kisses swooped lower, across her chest, down to the curve of her amplified breasts. He licked down the deep vee of her Lycra top. She felt the hardening in his body as hers softened—his bulging erection insistent against her belly.
‘Gabe,’ she begged.
He dragged his mouth from her skin. ‘I’ll kiss you properly after the show.’ A hot, rough mutter.
Her heart banged. ‘No.’ She rolled her hips against his, teasing the only way she could. ‘Now.’
Both his hands gripped her butt, holding her still—flush against his strained jeans. ‘After.’
‘No,’ she sighed, rubbing against him. The tiniest of movements that his grip allowed, but enough to send her to the brink of ecstasy. ‘Please.’
‘You’re going to be late,’ he groaned, his mouth dropping to her collarbone again, his pelvis rocking powerfully against hers. ‘You can’t be late.’
‘Don’t stop.’ She didn’t care how desperate she sounded.
He moved against her once more, his kisses frantic on her skin, his groan harsh in her ears. Her nipples screamed for his mouth to cover them, the hunger in her womb was all heat. Oh, she wanted him, wanted, wanted, wanted.
‘Please kiss me,’ she begged. ‘Please.’
But then, with a set jaw he stepped back. ‘After the show.’
Panting, she couldn’t believe it. She shook her head, but was too breathless to plead more. He took her upper arm in a firm grip and walked, swiftly guiding her back down the corridor towards the changing
room. He pushed the door open but kept walking—leaving her.
‘There you are!’ Chelsea called from inside. ‘I was wondering.’
Roxie had no choice but to go in. So warm, so excited, so amazed. Slowly her smile spread. He’d changed his mind. He was hers. No way could he deny them now. She’d felt the way he shook for her, how hard, how strong his hunger was.
‘Ready?’ Chelsea asked. ‘You look great.’
A quick glance in the mirror showed sparkling eyes, her cheeks glowing. Blood racing. Every cell singing in excitement. And her make-up still perfect.
‘I am so ready.’ She beamed. She couldn’t wait for it to be over.
In the distance, the music thumped, amping the crowd higher. She heard the calls, the whistles. She laughed aloud as they ran through the tunnel and out onto the pitch. The noise burst into her. It was crazy, it was fun and it was only the beginning. She moved fast, her body fluid, free, totally relaxed, zinging on the anticipation. She’d never loved dancing so much. Never felt so aware of her body.
She wasn’t aware of anyone watching her, the crowd a distant blur, and inside her mind she saw only him, his breathlessness, his dark eyes gleaming beneath half-closed lashes. She danced thinking of nothing and no one but him, of his expression as he’d moved closer, of the way he’d seemed to savour every touch of her skin. Being that desired was incredibly intoxicating. And the heady pleasure released her from any anxiety, any self-consciousness. She danced only for him and for herself.
During the game she knelt on the sideline with the other dancers. For this part they held pompoms, which they were to shake and shimmy at high points in the game—i.e. when the boys scored. Which they frequently did. She was loving it now—looking forward to dancing more at half-time. All nerves eviscerated.
She knew exactly where Gabe was—impossible to miss him with his neon green vest over his jeans and DOCTOR printed in large lettering across the back. Far sexier than the numbers on the rugby pitch. He ran on a couple of times to deal with blood injuries. She saw him moving to ice a couple of boys’ knees and ankles when fresh players were subbed on in the second half. She was so aware of him, felt such a connection, it was a wonder the world couldn’t see the string attached from her eyes to him.
After the game—which naturally the Knights won—she wriggled out of her costume and into her new dress. The kind of thing she’d never have worn when her grandfather was around to see it. Not that it was low cut, but it clung in all the right places—to the curves that she’d let go back to almost normal in just a booster bra rather than all-out padded. False advertising wasn’t necessary for Gabe, he already knew what was on offer and, to her great pleasure, he still wanted. There was an after-match function within the stadium and then most of the players and dancers went to a particular club in town. Her first time to attend. But she’d happily skip it. She couldn’t wait to be alone with Gabe—to finally get the kiss she’d been waiting for for ever. And then everything else.
She walked into the crowded room with a couple of the other dancers, her smile impossible to contain. She searched, her eyes flickering from one tall man to the next. Her heart beat louder, drowning the noise of talk and laughter and clinking glasses. Icy awareness slithered down her spine. She was certain before she’d even finished her sweep of the room.
Gabe had gone.
CHAPTER SIX
ROXIE ran up the stairs to her tiny bedsit above the garage, too defiant to bother about being quiet. There was no light on in the house so maybe he was still out. Maybe she’d missed him somehow and he was still at the bar waiting for her.
But she knew he wasn’t. She’d stayed for the drinks, gone on to the club and danced her heart out in the crowd, pretending she didn’t care that the coward had chickened out of following through with her. He was still treating her like someone not old enough or cool enough or sophisticated enough to be with him.
So now, nearly two in the morning, she unwound the wire cage on the P-for-performance bottle of Bolly. Stood in her open doorway and fired the cork towards his house. Then was crass enough to drink straight from the bottle.
It tasted good.
She was hot and thirsty, both angered and excited, sleep was utterly impossible. So standing on the landing out in the warm night air, swigging from a bottle that was emptying surprisingly quickly, seemed like a damn fine idea. She glared over at his house, mentally rehearsing what she was going to say to him as soon as she saw him again. With every sip she grew more riled, more defiant, more confident.
Damn the man.
She had a key to his house. After all, it was her house. And he was so going to get a piece of her mind. He owed her. Why shouldn’t she go in now and let him know all about it?
She ditched the drained bottle and grabbed her keys, kicking off her shoes before skipping down the stairs and along the path that led to his back door. She unlocked it and stepped inside. Realised then that she didn’t know which room he’d taken. No matter, the house was hardly huge.
She walked into the master bedroom downstairs. The one with the en suite where he’d washed out her eyes. Nothing.
Which left only the bedroom upstairs on the mezzanine floor—her old room. The door was ajar; she nudged it open. He hadn’t drawn the curtains and living in the central city meant there was a lot of light pollution, so she could see quite well—especially with the full moonlight streaming in as well.
She stared at the bed. The bastard was sound asleep. How the hell could he be sound asleep when she was being eaten alive by fantasies of everything she wanted to do to him—and for him to do to her?
Without thinking she walked closer, because it was a hot night and he was sleeping with just a sheet covering him. No pjs or tee shirt or vest or anything. Just a sheet that was currently resting low round his hips. She drank in the sight of his bare chest, breathed deep as she scoped his ripped abs.
He stirred and opened his eyes. Took a glimpse of her and groaned, closing his eyes tight. ‘F … in’ dreamin’ … Rox …’
Enthralled, she watched as he groaned her name again, watched his hand slide below that sheet to where it was seriously rucked up. He sighed then, frustration seeking satisfaction.
O-o-okay-yay-yay-yay.
She smiled broadly, thrilled to know she wasn’t alone in dealing with explicit dreams. She reached forward and trailed a finger down his sternum towards his belly button. ‘I’m right here.’
‘What the …!’ He sat bolt upright, his hand slamming on top of hers, squashing it against his chest so she could feel his heart thumping right through her fingers.
‘Roxie?’ His eyes horrified wide. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
She tried to tug her hand free but he didn’t let it go. He glared, his chest rising and falling as if he’d been sprinting.
She glared back. ‘You ran out on me.’
‘Roxie …’ He flung her hand from him. ‘You can’t just break into someone’s house.’
‘For the record, this is my house. But don’t panic,’ she drawled sarcastically. ‘I’m not here to attack you or move in on you. I just want to give you a piece of my mind.’
He puffed out a big breath. ‘It couldn’t wait ‘til morning?’
‘No, because you acted like a jerk.’
‘No, I didn’t,’ he snapped back. ‘I was very nice and helped calm your nerves.’
‘Oh, like they taught you that in med school? Don’t try to act like it wasn’t something you instigated. And don’t try to pretend it wasn’t something you’ve wanted for days. And don’t you dare try to pretend nothing more personal isn’t going to happen.’
He shifted. The sheet slipped. He hastily pulled it back.
Yeah, his ‘personal’ reaction was only getting bigger. And she was beyond sure of him now. Anticipation licked her nerves and made her laugh. ‘Did you know there’s over two hundred and fifty million bubbles in a bottle of champagne? Which means there are about a hundred and twenty-five
million bubbles zinging through my veins now.’
Gabe leaned back and rested his head back on the headboard, his pulse still settling from the shock of waking to find her in his room. But this reality was no nightmare, just pure fantasy—a too-pretty girl laughing at him, daring him, tempting him. ‘Someone bothered to count?’ he drawled, trying to feign some cool—some control.
‘Apparently so.’
‘You’ve had your bottle, then?’
‘All by myself.’ She sniffed. ‘You should have had some with me.’
He shook his head slowly, ruefully smiling. He’d lick the last drops from her lips given half the chance. But the trouble was he liked her. And that was where the complications arose. He sensed hurt beneath her determinedly sunny exterior, was certain she was denying loneliness and who knew what other needs. But he couldn’t ever be the guy to give security. His lifestyle would never accommodate a serious relationship and he didn’t want emotional hassle. It had taken him too long to feel
his own freedom. And he couldn’t trust that she wouldn’t think she wanted more if they became fully intimate.
‘No matter.’ She sashayed closer. ‘You promised me something.’
Oh, the temptation was extreme now. ‘I didn’t promise,’ he muttered weakly.
‘After the show.’ She ignored his denial. ‘I danced how you said to. Did you see?’
His gaze dropped to the sheet as he tried so hard to expunge the image that had sprung to mind. ‘Yes.’
‘Did you like it?’ Her voice went husky.
He swallowed. This was torture. Utter torture.
‘You’re afraid to answer that?’
‘Yes,’ he admitted.
‘Why?’
‘I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘You won’t. So long as I’m warmed up—and I do believe I am.’ She chuckled. ‘It shouldn’t hurt that much at all, should it? I always figured the pain thing was a way of trying to put a girl off. Trying to keep us “good”,’ She gurgled with laughter.
‘Roxie.’ He felt strangled as heat consumed him. ‘I didn’t mean physically.’
First Time Lucky? Page 7